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I open the door to my own room, before I am stepping into the room; closing the door behind myself, only to see a large package on top of my bed.
”Yay!” I exclaim, as I lay eyes on the gift.
The box had been wrapped in glossy and glittery paper, just as a gift is supposed to. It even has the bow on the top. Otherwise, it is basically just a large box, on the top of my bed.
My bed is neatly made, by my mother in the morning; with deep green bed-linen, fresh and clean. She does this every morning, for me.
I have to step over the green Linoleum floor, in order to get to the bed. It’s just a short walk, a few steps into my fairly small room. My bed is to the right. The wall is covered with semi dark, greyish blue wallpaper.
Once I reach the bed, I stop, leaning over the package; just ogling at it, for a moment as I am savouring the moment.
It is not every day, I am given a gift; even if I have them at the few special occasions, like my birthday. This is none of these occasions.
After a moment, I am lifting it up into the air before me; giving it a slight shake, before I am putting it back on the top of my bed. Now I am examining it, for the seams; and how best to open it, by myself. After all; I do have no pair of scissors, or any other sharp object with which to open the package.
”I will have to rip it up, in order to see what they gave me!” I ponder.
Sometimes, the sheer surprise is part of the fun; and the anticipation, of what is inside is part of the experience. I am trying to prolong the moment, just a little bit further; before I am ripping the first flap open, in order to see what is inside. Once I have ripped the first one up, I continue to rip the next; before I continue, by turning the package around. Flap by flap; until I can unfold the wrapping paper.
A store-front box is soon revealed; a Pony, by the looks of it.
”Pinkie Pie” the label reads.
”Pinkamena Diane Pie” is the Pony, I had been given.
”She is large!” I ponder; as I am looking at the box, in obvious wonder.
”Of course; this is the original package, she had been sold in!” I mumble.
While it is indeed the original package, there is no sign of what it had cost; just as well, I don’t need to know the price. It is the thought, that counts; and the joy I will have, playing with the toy I had been given. Even I know that.
”This is by far, the biggest toy I have ever been given!” I ponder, as I am looking at it’s casing.
After a moment, of ogling the package; I start examine the box, in search for how I am supposed to open it. It will take me some time; but I try to make this moment last, just enjoying to be given a gift.
Based on the design, of the package she is stored in; I have to open it, by pulling up a flap on the top of her containment. It feels, almost as if it had been a prison. With just a bit of effort, on my part; I manage to pull the flap up, opening the package.
Inside, I find another package; comprised out of two halves, a back and a front. She is kept in place, by the halves pressing together.
A moment later, I am pulling the inner package up, out of the outer casing; finding the two halves splitting apart, just as I had been expecting. This is a fairly standardized package, I have before me; for most dolls, and similar toys a girl could like to play with.
As I am pulling the inner package out, a slip of paper is falling out. I notice a stern warning, printed onto the slip of paper.
”Feed her a Muffin, a day!” the label reads.
”Because Cup Cake” is the subtitle.
”A Muffin?” I ponder; ”How do I get her a muffin, and where do I get the muffin from?” I consider.
Maybe, I could ask Mum for one. Still; I will have to come up with a muffin, each day.
”Cup Cake?” I ponder; ”What does that even mean?” I consider.
Of course; maybe I should have seen the clip on the You Tube, but I had not seen it yet. I have in fact never even heard of the reference before.
I could have thrown the slip of paper away, and flatly ignored the warning. I could have, yes. For now, I keep it; leaving it on the night-stand, by the side of my bed.
For now, I am focusing my attention on the pink plastic Pony before me. Of course, it is Pinkie Pie; Pink, and with the tightly curled up mane. She is smiling, from ear to ear.
”How could a Horse smile this wide?” I ponder, as I look at the Pinkie Pie doll before me.
I had split the inner casing; before I had picked her up, placing her on my bed.
”Whoa!!” I exclaim.
The doll is not feeling like plastic, and she is quite warm to the touch. Not exactly burning hot; but hot enough to stand out, scaring me. Besides; it isn’t as if it was heat generated from a faulty circuit or battery, either. It’s more of an overall heat, from a living and breathing being. As if she had been a pet?
After a moment, I imagine I see her wink at me; almost as if she is recognizing me, as her owner.
I take a step back, considering the situation; trying to make sense out of everything, that is going on around me.
Just as I am looking at her, she is once more winking at me; I am sure I am not mistaken, she is winking at me directly. It is, as if she is saying something, to me. Just that she can’t speak, in words.
”How do I even respond, to this?” I ponder.
I could always pretend I had not seen it, but somehow I don’t think I have that option. Not with her, not with Pinkie Pie. It isn’t that I know her, Pinkie Pie all that well; but something just makes it clear, there is no pretending it is raining with her.
I feel a shudder, running down my spine; just as her message is hitting home, and I know I can’t ignore it or pretend I had not heard her.
”Am I imagining things?” I ponder; ”I know I am a little girl, and that I am supposed to play pretend as I play with my little dolls!” I consider.
Only this, is no ordinary little doll. It is in fact not a mere little doll at all.
I look into her blue eyes. I see something in there. It’s not a painted on eye, or even one of these pretty glass eyes you sometimes have on dolls. She is watching me, and I know it.
”The eyes are the mirror, to the soul!” I consider; half by half believing it, and half by half questioning it now.
If I were to say, that she is smiling; it is not merely painted on, or the moulded plastic she had been made out of. Somehow, for some reason; she is actually smiling at me, but more as if she had been laughing with me than at me.
”Does she understand?” I ponder, and she just nods.
While the heat of her body had initially been discomforting, I guess she is growing on me; bit by bit, and making me feel more and more comfortable with having her in the room. Is it just the warm smile, on her face, or is it something more? Something less tangible and hard to put a finger on? Nonetheless; she is smiling, not grinning.
”These innocent, big, blue eyes; the kind of eyes, a girl could be drowning in?” I find myself pondering, as my gaze slowly is drawn towards her.
She is looking directly at me, clearly recognizing me. How, or why she is recognizing me; is beyond me, but it is obvious, nonetheless, she is recognizing me.
For now, she is staying silent, quiet; saying nothing, at all. She is just looking at me, with these huge, blue eyes of hers. A smile spreading out over her face.
”Why does she need a Muffin each day?” I ponder; and she is winking at me, as if she had been knowing what I was thinking.
How could she? I had not even spoken, or pronounced the words. She just knew, as if it had already happened before.
”I guess; I will just have to ask Mum, for that Muffin!” I put forth, and she is nodding.
”Did she just try to say yes?” I ponder, and she once more is winking at me, distinctly; as if it had been a conscious response, to something I had said, or in this case thought.
There is it again; the shudder running down the entire length of my spine, just a very cold chill this time.
I am not used, to my toys actively reacting; to what I say, do or think. Some more fancy toys may speak or sing; on specified commands or stimuli. This is not anything the likes of that. She is acting, as if she had understood something I had said. It may be in a very limited fashion, but the intent is clear as the light of day.
All my toys are more regular dolls and figurines; possibly with a few accessories, coming with them. Some wear clothes, and some have something else like a home with them. I guess, I would love for one of them to have a voice of her own, but for now I am not holding up much hope for it.
To me, the doll is a physical representation of a character; to which I can apply fantasies, with which I can interact as I am playing with the doll.
Most of my dolls are intended to play with, in the open; while a few seems to be intended more as decorative pieces. Of course; these are the figurines, I have on a shelf. These are quite pretty.
None of the toys I have can measure up; comparing with this Pinkie Pie, standing on my bed. It is not just the beautiful eyes and the expressive smile on her face; but I do love the tightly curled up mane and tail, both in a deep pink.
”Wonder if I will need to comb or brush her mane and tail, or if I dare to, afraid I will ruin them?” I ponder.
This is when the impossible happens. It is not just that she is moving the tail, but I can see the mane move, as if the hair is reaching for something.
”Whoa?!” I exclaim, quietly.
I did not see, what I think I just saw? This is, exactly when she is winking at me. It feels, almost as if she had been laughing at me.
”Does today count, or do I have a full day?” I ponder; a day is considered twenty-four hours, not just until the sun goes down.
All of a sudden, I notice her ears flopping; in something akin to a Morse code, as if she had been trying to speak. She tried to convey a message; more complex than winkings and nods could deliver, to me.
Somehow, she looks frustrated, with how she could not yet speak the words. I guess, I could not blame her.
”Are you missing, the ability to speak; so you could explain something, to me?” I inquire, hoping she would respond.
She nods, vigorously.
”I could ask her specific questions, and she could confirm or deny my assumptions?” I ponder.
”Maybe, I should start from the beginning!” I ponder; ”Do you understand, what I am saying?” I inquire.
She winks, giggling; then she is nodding, quite vigorously.
”Your name, is Pinkamena Diane Pie?” I inquire, she nods; ”Okay, I knew that!” I ponder, giggling.
”Are you a strawberry farmer?” I inquire; she shakes her head, emphatically and frowns at me.
”Baking muffins?” I inquire.
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